Silver and Gold
by dragoon811
Summary: With time counting down, Severus and Hermione reflect on the past three years of her Apprenticeship and wonder how to take the next step. (Complete!)
1. Chapter 1

First, many thanks to my fantastic and invaluable Beta, Toblass, and my cheerleaders, Toby, I M Sterling, and Jesi. I love you all, thank you so much for all of your work! Secondly, this was written for Fizzabella1110 for the sshg-giftfest. :) I am not terribly keen on Potions Apprentice Hermione in most situations (I just..no..), so I hemmed and hawwed and sobbed over this until I got an end result I was pleased with. :)  
As always, I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from writing this, etc, etc. :)

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

_Hermione laughed and he scowled, swiping at his nose. "No, here, let me... I don't know why you were stirring so vigorously." _

_Her hands were gentle, wiping the small splatters of Fever Reducer from his cheek and nose. Her fingers were cool—no doubt a side effect from the dungeon air, even in June—but where they touched left trails of fire. Irritably, he brushed them aside. "It is necessary in order to make the air bubbles, as well you know, else—"_

_"Yes, yes, or else the solution won't create the necessary cooling effect. I know, Severus." Her smile was entirely genuine, and he felt the weight of it down to his boots. When had that begun, he wondered, not for the first time. He realised his lips were parted as if to speak and firmly shut them once again under the guise of removing his slim spectacles..._

The silver strand of memory clung to the tip of his wand as it left his temple, and he deposited it with great care into the bowl with the others. So many moments. So many memories. They swirled around lazily, affording him glimpses of the past three years since Minerva more or less gave him the ultimatum to make Hermione his apprentice so that she would have "the best possible academic record, as befitting a heroine". Minerva's bloody quote, not his. As if _he_ wasn't a hero and entitled to perhaps a damn choice. Despite all that had happened, that still stuck in the back of his throat, and he prodded the shimmering liquid. Three years. Well, almost...there was about a week left.

How had it been so long already? It seemed as if time had flown, once he'd gotten over his initial dislike of the situation.

Sighing, Severus glided over to his desk, running his finger along the line he was supposed to sign. All it would take was one moment for him to sign his name, and she would be free of him. Gone, leaving him all alone.

But wasn't that what he'd wanted when Minerva had ordered him to take the girl on? He'd spent four years in peace, none of Potter or his friends in the school to torment him with memories, and then out of the blue, Minerva had told him that Hermione Granger—how her name had grated on him then!—was seeking an Apprenticeship in order to become a full-fledged Healer. She'd _told_ him that he was going to oblige the girl and take her on. Not asked. It hadn't been a question, and he was still annoyed to admit he'd thrown a bit of a tantrum, Albus's thrice-damned portrait twinkling benignly down at the scene like some sort of demented Christ figure.

It had been to either rage and destroy or claw at the buttons suddenly constricting his throat—at the scar tissue, as if he could rip it open and finish what the Dark Lord had started. But strangely, since he had gotten over the urge to die in recent years, _rage_ it was.

He had served enough, hadn't he? Suffered enough? He'd bound himself to too many in a single lifetime for him to take on yet another responsibility. He deserved a respite, some long-denied freedom of choice. Knowing he'd be magically forced into servitude once more filled him with dread. He would be forced to teach the girl, look after her well-being—like hell he'd wanted to babysit the girl!—but she'd changed his mind, the bossy, stubborn witch.

Severus looked over at the faint glow from the Pensieve, brow furrowing. He hadn't bothered to store his earliest memories, since they weren't making this difficult on him. He remembered so clearly Hermione's indignity on his behalf when he'd made it clear that he hadn't even been asked to take her on as his apprentice. He'd only meant to impress upon her that he was still the bitter, surly bastard who'd taught her for seven years, regardless how the papers spoke of him.

He had sat her down and prepared to lambast her with every vicious word in his vocabulary: every word that fell from his lips tasted foul. Hermione had sat, frowning slightly as he sneered and snarled, blustering his way through a rather windy rant. He'd thought the girl he remembered would have flinched, burst into tears and fled. Yet she sat there, watching, evaluating.

It took him several minutes to realise just how astute she'd become, and already she seemed to have acquired the Healer-take-no-bullshit mindset that would serve her well in her chosen field. She'd convinced and cajoled him to tell her the truth of the matter. He hadn't been given a choice. He had been ordered and coerced into taking her on.

He had been stunned at the way her eyes had narrowed, flashing in Gryffindor righteous indignation. Hermione had called him a hero, a word he still had not thought applied to him. She had been angry on his behalf. Severus had never had someone be so...concerned. Lily hadn't, and _she_ had been his best friend. But this witch, with her mad hair and perfect teeth... it floored him.

She'd stormed right out to Minerva's office. He had been too surprised to follow, unable to comprehend why she wasn't jumping at the chance to make his life hell for the next three years.

By the time Hermione had made her way back into his office to confront him in front of his massive pile of marking, she was no longer pink-cheeked-white-knuckled with anger, but instead displayed a sort of simmering calm that made him wary.

"Tell me what the binding ceremony is, please." Her back had been ramrod straight, her smile tight, a determined glitter in her eyes. "The Headmistress may have already filed the paperwork so you're stuck with me, but I'll see if I can make it a bit more bearable."

That last bit had made him suspicious, but he'd outlined it as curtly as possible, handing over the copy of the words he was supposed to utter, the words that would tie him to Hermione Granger. He hadn't known what she was planning, but grudgingly had had to admit to himself that she was intelligent enough to possibly come up with a solution that he hadn't... one that hadn't involved him faking his death and running off to warmer climes, or Minerva being mysteriously ousted as Headmistress.

Severus's face softened as he picked up his quill. In the end, Hermione's solution had been ingenious and so extraordinarily simple; damn it, he should have thought of it first. Long fingers caressed the lines of their contract as he recalled her marching up to him in the Great Hall and muttering for him not to say anything.

* * *

As the center of Hogwarts, which itself was upon an old ley line, the Great Hall was a traditional spot for oaths and bindings. The magic was stronger here, and it had been with great apprehension that he'd clasped hands with her—his cool and hers warm and slightly damp, had she been nervous?—and allowed Minerva to put the tip of her wand to their joined appendages. His gut had churned; the meagre breakfast of tea and toast he'd managed to choke down was threatening to make a reappearance all over the witch who was giving him a smile she must have thought looked reassuring. All it did was unsettle him further; what had she planned?

A plain white binding cord slithered out of the Headmistress's wand, twining around their hands, and he tried to squash the rising panic as it knotted. He couldn't do this, not again... No more vows, no more bindings... He squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed at his weakness.

"When you're ready," Minerva said, and Hermione's hand had gripped his more tightly, "speak the words of binding and the cord will fall free." To his immense relief, she swept out of the hall without any further ado, giving them the privacy that tradition dictated.

How different it was from his own Apprenticeship—he'd been proud and angry and ready to prove himself. Here, now, he was still angry, but he was panicking and couldn't disguise the tremors in his hand. All he wanted to do was run and jump out the damn window, but the magic wouldn't allow it.

"I pledge myself as your Apprentice," Hermione said softly. The cord began to glow faintly at her words and her shoulders relaxed. "I will listen to your teachings in all things regarding the spells and potions that pertain to my studies."

He couldn't believe his ears. She'd reversed the oaths. _She'd_ bound herself to _him._. The responsibility was hers. All he would have to do was teach her. She'd done this? For him? He frowned; perhaps he had misjudged her.

"I will take any lodgings you find acceptable for a witch of my standing." The glowing cord brightened with each word. "I swear to maintain all decorum and privacy as befitting a master-apprentice relationship, until such time that you sign the contract as completed."

The cord tightened on their wrists and his stomach clenched almost painfully. The knot untied and it dropped to the floor, useless now the binding was complete.

* * *

Severus opened his desk drawer and dug through the jumble of papers and bent quills to find the cord. It had begun as plain white when it wrapped around their hands, as all binding cords did, and the colour would change during the vows to denote the strength of the bond. He'd Summoned the damn thing as it hit the stones of the Great Hall and had been praying for nearly three years that Hermione either hadn't seen the colours or didn't know what they meant.

His questing fingers met silk and he grasped the cord, pulling it out. He left it hidden in the back, ashamed that he was unable to control the wonder he had felt when he'd examined it in the privacy of his office. Sometimes, he took it out as he did now, brushing over the braided threads of silver and gold.

Silver and gold. He'd never seen such a cord, outside of the few weddings he'd been dragged into attending as part of the Death Eater crowd, and certainly he'd never heard of one for a mere apprenticeship. The colours had unnerved him, that first month as she settled in. Minerva had given her the quarters that connected to his, and he'd been worried that she would intrude so he'd assigned her books to read and essays to write to keep her out of his hair...

Severus scowled suddenly and hurried to the Pensieve. Another memory to deposit, if he was looking back at it with _fondness_. His temples throbbed as the thread clung to his wand. Headaches were not a good sign, and the Pensieve was very full.

"I have to stop for the day," he muttered, prodding the silvery strand until her face swam into view.

* * *

_"Books!" Hermione cried, exasperation writ large on her features. "Books and essays, that's all I've done for two weeks. I thought I was your apprentice, not your student!"_

_Severus raised a brow. She wanted to slap him. "So you are. What does that have to do with the work I have assigned you?"_

_"Books," she told him again and he waited for her to continue, leaning backwards with a creak. She glared at him. "I need practical work, _sir_, not just book work. That means going over potions and spell reversal. You haven't even given me access to the supply cupboard or the lab to brew anything! The whole point of this is to learn, to be taught, and I can't do that with just books!"_

_"Of course you can't," he said snidely. "But I refuse to try to tell you in months what you can learn in weeks from books that already exist. Frankly, I'd rather not waster either of our time on the foundation."_

_"And the essays?" She knew she was clenching her jaw, grinding her teeth, but couldn't be arsed to care. Her parents would be scandalized. _

_"The essays are for me to gauge your progress," he replied after a moment. "They let me know what you are taking from the books and how you apply the information. It will make practical work much easier."_

_Hermione stared at him for several heartbeats before nodding, curls bobbing. Well, that made sense. "Thank you. That makes sense," she told him, echoing her own thoughts. She made a face. "I really do appreciate the explanation. Like you, I think, I don't much care for floundering in the dark anymore."_

_"I understand completely." His tone was mild, but it was clear the discussion was quite over._

Hermione smiled to herself at the memory as she browsed Severus's shelves for the titles she needed, toying with her necklace. It seemed that every time she turned around this week, memories were bubbling up to the surface of her mind, and that particular incident had certainly changed their dynamic from master-former student to master-apprentice.

And thank Merlin it had! Severus was much better company after that. Not that he'd been unbearable or anything beforehand, but it had definitely been an improvement.

She frowned. One of the reference books was missing, the one with the gilt edges. Damn it! She had been ninety-seven percent certain that the measurements she needed were in there, and she'd been hoping to finish off her workbook before dinner.

It was possibly in his office, but he'd locked the door, so he was either busy or with a student. Hermione smiled; he was a wonderful Head of House, at least when it came to Slytherin. It had been an eye-opener to see things from the other side. He truly cared about them, and she'd been surprised to hear him berate them when they had misbehaved. It _was_ behind closed doors, which would be why she'd never seen him do it during her own years as a student, but at least he did it.

Lost in thought, she headed for the door. Perhaps the library had a copy.

* * *

The memories swirled in the shallow basin as Severus downed the Headache Potion.

He had three years of memories and emotions to deposit, and less than a week to sign the contract. With the memories pulled, he would presumably be able to honestly convince himself that she had, in fact, fulfilled the parameters of her apprenticeship and was ready to become a full-fledged Healer.

Under a week was all he had until his signature had to be on that parchment and the binding dissolved. Mere days until she was no longer _his_ Hermione Granger.

* * *

His mouth tasted like ash, and his eyes felt crusted shut. He pried them open and scowled blearily at the clock on the far wall. _Shite._ Overslept again. Severus scrubbed at his face, pushing back the lank strands plastered to his sallow cheeks.

At least he had remembered to drink copious amounts of water along with Ogden's Finest, judging by the lack of hangover. The stones were cold under his bare toes, and he nudged the empty whisky bottle away with his other foot, wavering unsteadily.

He took a lurching step forward and heard the bathroom door lock.

"Bugger."

He sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, grey nightshirt bunched under his bony knees. Their chambers connected solely at the bathroom, and he had quickly laid enchantments upon the doors in order to avoid any meetings at inopportune moments. The door on the opposite side from the entrance locked automatically, with certain provisos. For example, if either of them even whispered 'help', the door would unlock and alert the other, same if their heart or lungs ceased to work. And of course, if the other was unavailable, a House Elf would be alerted to render aid. Better, he'd been able to create enough of a dampening in the wards that any bodily noises would go unheard.

Very neat spellwork indeed.

And right now, with his bladder full, he bloody hated it.

Trying to take his mind off of the pressing need for the loo, Severus ran his fingers over the spines of the various books stacked on his nightstand before selecting one at random. The leather was cool and smooth in his hands and he opened it to his marker. The words on the page were blurry without his reading glasses, but he still bent lower to the tome for all the good that it did him. His nose was nearly touching the page, but he didn't give a shit.

...Wrong choice of words.

He managed several minutes before the tapping of her toothbrush against the marble sink reminded him of his body's urges. He fought the urge to pace, knowing rising would do little to aid him. The water ran a moment later, then more tapping. Always the same rhythm and count—four, like a double heartbeat.

Severus knew her routines well by now, and he managed to cross the room at a stagger, his book forgotten among the folds of his duvet, just as the door unlocked on his side.

Sweet relief. He sighed blissfully, listening to the soft humming coming from her chambers. When Hermione hummed in the morning, it usually indicated a fair mood. It was off-tune, and he was unfamiliar with whatever she'd meant to be singing, but it had grown on him over the past year or so when she'd picked it up sometime around the hols.

The water was ice cold on his face and he gasped, inhaling water and coughing and he scrubbed indelicately at his large nose and angular features with his towel. The mirror wisely held its tongue as he brushed his teeth and forced a comb through his hair. He'd hexed the bloody thing more than once, and Merlin knew Hermione had stormed out of the bathroom, still shouting at it on a few occasions. The mirror was an opinionated annoyance installed by Albus when Severus had started teaching, and he was still unclear if it was meant to be helpful in terms of his appearance or if the doddering ex-Headmaster had simply wanted to remind Severus to hate himself.

It was hard to tell.

Grimacing, he spat out the paste and rinsed his mouth. The enchanted mirror had ceased to annoy him when he had simply ceased to care, though it did try to offer helpful advice and didn't much care to be saluted with a single finger in response.

Severus was well aware what he looked like, thank you. He was no prize, but, well, it was harder to hate himself these days. Not impossible, but he supposed he was making great strides or some such rot. He'd seen the Muggle psychotherapist as ordered, until it had come down to ending the therapy or Obliviating the man after each session, and that was too much of a hassle.

Even so, he had to admit with the whisky-induced honesty still churning in his gut (and now the castle's sewage system), that he was...different, thanks in part to time and largely to Hermione's presence in his life. He was less bitter. More patient. Hell, he'd even lost some hostility, and took the whole hero nonsense in stride.

Mostly.

Really, he hadn't undergone a personality swap and was not a fucking ray of sunshine, but he was _better_. Still a surly, sarcastic git with a sharp tongue, but, he knew as he fumbled the medicine cabinet open for a Sober Up, that Hermione made him _want_ to be better.

The ginger-and-honey flavoured elixir was easily swallowed—he didn't need it for a hangover, but it worked better than a Pepper Up. He scowled at his reflection. Severus chucked the phial into the small bin and hoped the potion would take effect soon. Damn Ogden's for making him maudlin.

* * *

Hermione hummed to herself as she combed her hair. She wanted to make the best possible impression on him this week. Call her foolish, or sentimental, but she wanted to feel beautiful. Her time as Severus's apprentice was almost done, and she'd be lying if she didn't admit that her blood was bubbling through her veins like champagne.

She hadn't meant to fall in love with him, really, for all the jokes her friends had made about it when she'd started. Honestly, Ron had been the worst. Cracking jokes about her "shacking up with the bat of the dungeons" while he sat half on Viktor's lap... Harry had been just as bad, the git!

Rolling her eyes at her friends' past antics, Hermione started to put her hair up with a few charms she'd learned from Lavender. It took a while to do, but she rather liked the result. She'd last worn her hair up like this... Merlin, when? That Valentine's Day Ball? She'd loved that dance.

Sometimes it was hard to believe she'd gotten him to dance with her. She'd asked him once if he'd consider it—her palms had been clammy as she'd crushed the burgundy velvet of her skirts in her fists—and then she had asked him once more when the floor had seemed full enough for them to join in.

His immediate acquiescence had stolen her breath even as he'd slid that wiry arm around her waist and spun her out into the throng. The waltz had been divine. Cliché, perhaps, but she'd felt like she'd been dancing on a cloud. She could recall perfectly the scent of Severus's aftershave, the feel of the wool of his robes under her fingers, the heat of his body.

Hermione shivered at the memory, jabbing her wand at one last curl before setting down the length of wood and reaching for her earrings. The small gold hoops were cold as she put them in, but warmed quickly to her body temperature. She smiled at her reflection.

Soon, she wouldn't be Severus's apprentice any more, and she would be free to approach him for a second dance. Well, dinner first; it would probably look odd if she just asked him for a dance!

With a giggle, Hermione hurried to dress.

Less than a week to impress Severus, to try to see if he viewed her as a woman, a potential partner, rather than just an apprentice. She didn't want to just out and ask him. They'd be colleagues after Poppy retired, and she wanted to avoid any awkwardness.

* * *

By the time he was dressed and had had a cup of tea, he felt marginally human and cheerier than he had any right to be. The signing of the contract niggled at the back of his mind and as much as he tried to avoid thinking of it, he still prodded at the knowledge like a child with a loose tooth. Only there was no promise of a Knut under a pillow at the end of this wait.

Severus glanced at the ornate silver timepiece, a gift from his mother when he completed his Mastery—he was early for breakfast, so in a rare fit of tidying, he decided to shelve the stacks of books on either bedside table and the low coffee table.

It was a terrible habit, he knew, picking up books, carrying them somewhere to be read, and leaving them there. And it was not as if he had an actual method for shelving his books, so the normal sorting spells did him no good, and he wasn't truly bothered by the stacks he left around to work one out, either.

His haphazard method of shelving of his books had thrown Hermione the first time he'd allowed her into his quarters a few months into her apprenticeship with him. The memory, one he hadn't yet pulled, still made his lips curve into a wicked smirk.

* * *

_"Do not touch anything," Severus warned her, choosing to ignore the fact that the witch was rolling her eyes at him. His key slid smoothly into the lock and he turned it._

_"Shall I hover?" Hermione's snide reply made him turn his head to glare at her, but it lacked any real heat. He was, frankly, exhausted, and having a meeting in his quarters rather than his office would allow him some respite. "Sorry."_

_"There is no need to apologise. I should have anticipated that you would have assumed that I meant for you to take things literally. Allow me to elaborate—you may sit on the settee, and of course touch the floor and anything I hand you, but otherwise keep your hands to yourself. I haven't the inclination to lock up my projects simply because you have the urge to investigate." Severus paused in the small stone passageway, undoing the last ward. "Ah," he added, his eyes gleaming, "and you may touch the air."_

_Hermione laughed behind him. She sounded delighted, and he couldn't for the life of him decide if it was genuine amusement at what he'd said, or if she was making fun. When upon reaching his sitting room he stepped aside to allow her past, he glanced at her face. He was surprised to see that the humour on her features was genuine, and something warmed in him. _

_As he watched, her expression changed to one of wonder—had she thought he lived in a cave or slept upside down? Severus's eyes darted to the open door at the other end of the sitting room—shite, he hadn't bothered to make the bed again, but at least he knew he deposited his dirty clothes in the laundry basket each night and morning, so she wouldn't see anything embarrassing. _

_On second thought...why risk it? Severus waved a hand and his bedroom door slammed shut. _

_"Tea?" he offered, gesturing for her to take a seat at either the settee or his favoured wingback chair. To his relief, she took the settee._

_"Yes, please, thank you." Hermione beamed at him as she smoothed her robes over her knees. _

_Severus nodded jerkily and headed for the kitchenette. Preparing tea was not a difficult task, giving him a welcome reprieve. Today had been exhausting. _

_"Do you need a hand?" Hermione appeared at his elbow and he swore, loudly, his wand out and pointed at her. "Sorry, not my intention to startle you."_

_He sighed, stowing his wand safely. _

_"I was not startled." Merlin, he sounded petulant to his own ears. Hermione ignored it, and nudged him out of the way._

_"Go sit, you look dead on your feet. I think I can figure out tea." Her voice was gentle as she steered him out towards his own chair. "Sit," she ordered._

_Severus watched her, occasionally telling her where he kept the tea spoons or the tea leaves, and soon the tea tray was on the coffee table, just in reach for them both. Hermione inhaled the fragrant steam from her cup with a smile. _

_"Your office always smells of this. I'd wondered what it was." _

_He snorted. "Clearly I am not giving you enough work if you have time to wonder about my office."_

_"Probably not," she agreed cheerfully, taking a cautious sip of the hot beverage._

_They talked for a while across various topics before he winced, realising how close he was allowing her, and he began to withdraw. A lull in the conversation, and he nodded to the shelf behind her. "Hand me the book by Pushland, if you would."_

_"Sure." Hermione rose and stared at the shelf a long moment. "Severus? Has Irma ever seen your shelves?"_

_He frowned. "No, why?"_

_"Because I think she'd have a fit." Her voice was tight. "It's a mess..." _

_Scowling, he set down his tea cup and hastily crossed to her, plucking the book from the shelf. "No, it is not. I know precisely where each book is."_

_"There's no order!" Hermione looked at him with dismay, accepting the book from his hands. "If you'd like, I could sort them for you..."_

_"No," he told her firmly. "I will not have you destroying my system." _

_"What system? You have science fiction—that's a surprise, by the way—next to Arithmancy, and then there's two reference books but I can see more reference books on the other shelf. Even Potions are all over the place, and you have so many books! How do you find them?" She was clearly aghast._

_"And I suppose your own shelves are sorted by topic, then author," he sneered defensively. _

_"Well, yes..." She seemed to regain some margin of control over her innate need for order. "What 'system' do you use?" _

_Seeing as he would get no rest until he'd answered her pestering, he sighed. "They are grouped by how often I use them, or personal preference."_

_"It's so wrong," she muttered, clutching the book to her chest. "So terribly wrong. Never let Irma in here, she'd have a stroke."_

_Severus laughed loudly, missing the enthralled look on her face as the rich sound rolled over her for the first time._

* * *

tbc in chapter 2... ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Pathetic," Severus muttered, shelving the last of his books rather haphazardly. Merlin, but he had it bad. He _hated _ being so on edge. He was finding it increasingly difficult to put aside his feelings in order to be what she needed. An apprentice needed a master, and a proper one.

Even though Hermione had made the vows to him, he still couldn't stop himself from feeling responsible to care for her. His own master had been a crotchety old witch who had ordered him around without any compunction. Merlin forbid he sleep, or have a chance to bathe, let alone eat. It had been entirely unpleasant, yet had at least convinced him to hurry through the apprenticeship at what was nearly record speed. He did not wish to do the same to Hermione.

Although her initial presence had been unwanted, he had taken his duties quite seriously. A master should care for their apprentice, so he did his best to allot time for her to chatter at him. He even tolerated precisely three minutes of conversation a week about _Potter_. Give or take. Sometimes she slid the boy into the discussion before he caught it. But he tried not to be an arse about it. Tried. He didn't always succeed, but surely the witch knew his temperament.

Severus would make a point to take Hermione on outings to Hogsmeade or the Forbidden Forest, at first ostensibly to acquire ingredients or tomes, when truly he thought she needed air and sun. No sense in her becoming as pale as him, he thought, lest rumours circulate that he'd turned her into a vampire, or some such rot. But their walks had done him some good as well, and frankly he took them now purely to enjoy her company away from the prying eyes of students and staff.

He dismissed her in the evenings at an appropriate hour that would allow her time for whatever leisure she wished to pursue before she slept. He escorted her to meals in the Great Hall, unless they were brewing, in which case he ensured that Winky—the only free elf in the blasted school and therefore the only one to whom she wouldn't try to give ugly knitted... things—brought her a lunch.

Merlin knew Hermione was as prone as he was when it came to getting into a book or project and forgetting to eat.

To his dismay, he'd gained nearly a stone since taking Hermione on. Poppy couldn't help commenting almost weekly on his appearance. Apparently he looked "better" and "healthier". It was starting to grate on his nerves.

Severus adjusted his cuffs, the row of small buttons liked to warp with the pull of his sleeves, but the dungeons were too cold and he was too lean for him not to wear wool year round. There. He was suitable. Well, his hair wasn't, drying already with the faint sheen of oil that just wouldn't go away, but then that was hardly new, was it?

He threw his teaching robes over his shoulders and strode down the short corridor. His boots made little sound on the stone as he opened the door that led to his office. From there it was simple to enter the corridor and hurry down to Hermione's chamber door. He knocked brusquely, same as he did every morning at precisely five minutes to seven.

Prompt as ever, the door swung inwards, revealing the smiling witch.

His heart nearly stopped. Hermione had put her hair up in a way reminiscent of the dratted Valentine's ball last year when she'd pestered him into accepting a dance with her, and her gaze was clear and happy. Clearly, she had slept well and was in good spirits.

"Good morning, Severus" she said, pulling her apprentice robes on and closing her door behind her. "Did you sleep well?"

"As tolerable as it usually is," he replied, falling into step with her. Her strides were shorter than his, and he matched them with ease. She studied his face, and he felt the blush creeping up his neck. "And yourself?"

"Wonderfully," she said with a sigh. "I actually fell asleep right away last night."

His lips quirked. "Your books must feel neglected."

Hermione laughed, and he felt the usual surge of pride that _he_ had been the one to elicit the sound. He opened the staff door to the Great Hall, allowing her past him, the scent of vanilla and brown sugar trailing after her. If his nostrils flared and his eyes closed as he inhaled the fragrance, no one knew but him. The constant ache in his chest since he'd pulled out the contract grew, and he quickly hurried to his seat at the table.

"Morning," Minerva managed, inclining her head. Her brogue was thick, and she was staring daggers at Filius, who was holding the coffee carafe with one hand while chatting to Hagrid. The Headmistress was even less of a morning person than Severus himself.

"Morning, Headmistress, it looks to be a beautiful day," Hermione said. She had already poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice, and offered it to Severus out of habit before offering it to Rolanda. He declined; he hated the stuff, always had.

Severus busied himself with serving first Hermione, then plated his own meal.

"Filius," Minerva finally snapped. "Pass the coffee."

The diminutive fellow quickly complied—they had all worked with her long enough to realise the imminent danger. Soon, Minerva had a full mug and was offering the carafe to Severus.

"My thanks."

The students weren't paying mind to the staff, and the noise level in the hall increased as the inhabitants of Hogwarts became more alert through the application of food and caffeine. Even Minerva started in on chitchat. "So, Hermione. Only a few days left. Do you think that you've accomplished everything you've set out to do?"

"Almost, Headmistress," Hermione replied, leaning forward to speak around Severus. He tried very hard not to stare at the tendril of hair against her pale neck, choosing instead to glare at Mr Forest from Slytherin, who was getting a bit rowdy. "I'm sure that Severus will work me until the very last second. He's quite thorough, not that I mind. I will likely be the best-prepared Healer on record," she added with a laugh.

Minerva agreed. "Good. You will be a boon to—"

Severus interrupted their conversation as he pushed back from the table. He couldn't bear to hear any more about Hermione leaving him. Them. Hogwarts. "I must prepare for my morning class. Excuse me."

Heart aching, he hurried out of the room, cloak billowing out behind him like tattered wings.

* * *

Hermione came into the classroom just after his second class, snagging the essays from the desk. "Here, I'll mark these for you."

"I can do it," Severus scowled.

"Of course you can." She frowned, holding the parchments closer. "I'm helping."

"I don't—"

"Need my help, I know. You know, I won't think any less of you if you for once just let me do it instead of arguing with me over it."

"I'm not arguing," he hissed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, then reached forward and smoothed his hair back. He froze, turned to ice as his blood became molten. Merlin, he could hear his heart. "You are. But you always do, so I don't mind too much." She dropped her hand and stepped back. Was it his imagination, or were her cheeks slightly pink? "Anyway, I'll have these to you by lunch. What else did you want me to work on this morning? I've finished the Calming Draughts for the NEWT students and delivered them, and I've read up on the jinxes you left on the board, too."

He frowned. "That was somewhat quicker than I anticipated."

"Well, this is me, after all." Hermione idly moved his inkwell slightly to the left. "Did you want lunch in the lab today, or are you actually going to the Great Hall?"

Severus grimaced, sliding his inkwell back. Blasted witch, moving things about to irk him... "I dislike the Hall, as well you know. I am certain I can come up with something for us to brew."

"I'm out of that conditioner you gave me for Christmas," she offered hopefully, and he rewarded her with a crooked grin. "But I have just a bit of the shampoo left."

"Merlin save us if your hair gets free of its confines, then. Anything in particular you desire for lunch?" He paused, but forced himself to continue. "It is your last few days, after all."

Hermione tilted her head quizzically. "I don't think so, no, but if you want to tell Winky that I'd like some of that spice cake you enjoy so much, go ahead."

"You enjoy it," he countered. "I merely sample in order to ensure that my apprentice is being fed adequate meals."

"Of course," she replied loftily. "How could I forget? So good of you, _Master_."

"Don't be impertinent."

"Sorry."

She wasn't, of course, as evidenced by the cheeky grin. He laughed and she flushed pink. "Go," he urged. "I have the fifth year Ravenclaws and Slytherins next, libidinous little bastards. I look forward to most of them unable to continue next year. Potentially-hazardous potions and hormones are not a combination I particularly enjoy dealing with."

"Never thought I'd hear you call your House bastards."

"They're the libidinous ones, the Ravenclaws are the bastards."

Hermione giggled and headed for the door. "See you at lunch."

Severus smiled. "Indeed."

* * *

"Here. You look like you need it." Hermione handed him _his_ mug, which she must have stolen from his office and washed, and he glanced down out of habit to confirm that his tea was the proper colour. He took a blissful sip of the hot liquid. Perfect—plenty of sugar with a bit of milk.

Holding the mug like a balm, he sat on the free stool and pulled his lunch tray close. The mug was his favourite, a Christmas gift from her two years prior. It held more tea than the plain white mugs he kept in his kitchen, the handle was large enough for him to grip without burning his knuckles on the rounded sides, it was black, and it was, amusingly, shaped like a cauldron.

He loved the damn thing. It was, quite possibly, the best gift he had ever received. When he'd opened the present and expressed his admiration for the ceramic item, she had smiled and it was as if someone had lit his own private sun. The unexpected knowledge that he _loved_ her, had done so for a while, scorched his soul as he gave name to the emotion.

The struggle he'd been facing in regards to how to deal with his bright apprentice, the way he felt responsible for her, the way he _cared_, had crashed down around him in a single breathless moment. She drove him insane, made him laugh, made him angry and inspired... and it was all he could do not to say the words on a daily basis.

But masters did not fall in love with their apprentices. They were to guide and teach and aid, not seduce.

"I've finished most of the essays," she said, unknowingly interrupting his reverie. Hermione picked up the second half of her sandwich, biting into it and chewing thoughtfully. "I have to know, was I ever as bad as Alecott?"

Severus snorted. "Only taken you a term and a half to ask, I'm impressed." He looked at her over the top of his reading glass, smirking. "You, _Miss Granger_, were considerably worse."

"Was I? Dear Merlin. I'm sorry."

"Allow me to correct myself. You were not worse." Hermione perked, but he spoke again. "You are worse."

She scowled, reaching across the work table to swat at him. "Git."

He inclined his head in mocking surrender. "But the content of your work has greatly improved. The length is the same, and while you do still tend to regurgitate what you have read, you are also applying original thought."

Hermione patted his arm, something undefinable in her brown eyes. "Thank you, Severus. That means the world to me."

* * *

Hermione pulled the second stack of essays closer and inked her quill. Severus was sitting off to her side, eating his lunch, and she relished in his quiet company. She was going to miss this when her apprenticeship was through.

And it would be disastrous if she flubbed the teeny tiny chance she had with him.

What would she do without these moments in his laboratory? The fumes rising from the gold cauldron where his experimental brew simmered—something she couldn't comprehend and even Severus himself only had a vague notion of how it would turn out—gave the room an almost ethereal atmosphere. The workbooks and journals lined neatly along the top of the wall, ink-stained and worn, were as familiar to her now as the lines of his face.

It was her third, well, fifth, favourite room in the castle. Maybe fourth. She did like her room, but not as much as the laboratory. And maybe she could knock the Great Hall down a notch, but not the library, or Severus's quarters.

She was so engrossed with marking a particularly lengthy essay that she barely registered when Severus packed away his things to go. She wouldn't have noticed him leaving at all if he hadn't dropped a hand to her shoulder and squeezed gently.

The touch thrilled her, as did the smile he bestowed upon her when she looked up at him.

Elated, Hermione bent to her task once more, the door closing softly behind him with a swish of his robes along the stone floor.

* * *

His head aching from pulling more memories, Severus sat nursing a mug of tea at his desk. The hour was late, but he had managed to finish all of the marking for his classes. The NEWT students had managed to produce passable brews today, a pleasant surprise. Maybe he was getting through to the little blighters after all.

Picking up the checklist written in his cramped, spidery script, he looked it over.

Had he given his apprentice proper care, ensuring she ate and slept? He certainly thought so. She seemed healthy enough, and well-rested when she didn't get wrapped up in a book. Had he attended to her basic emotional needs? Severus knew he had tried. He wasn't the most approachable of men, but he had attempted to wrangle his temper where she was concerned. It even worked, for the most part. He crossed those two off the list, moving on.

Severus was fairly knowledgeable across various subjects, but knew he truly excelled when it came to Potions, and his passion for the Dark Arts was nearly unmatched by any alive... who were on the side of the Light, that is.

Had he passed her the proper knowledge? Yes. There could be no doubt. She knew how to brew every healing ointment, salve, draught, tincture, oil, and any other variation thereof (that was not Dark, though few were debatable) that were up to just under a Mastery level. She knew which brews she could combine without any ill effects. She had learned his own personal healing chants, could reverse several hexes, curses, and jinxes.

For a witch who was ill-suited to Potions, she was, at least, able to follow directions. Hermione was powerful with her magic, capable of dogged research and stubborn focus, so her reversals were excellent.

She would, in short, be an excellent Healer. St Mungo's would be lucky to have her. And yet...how difficult it was to admit to the wild thought that Healer-green robes would suit her!

He didn't want to let her go. He wanted to keep her as his apprentice, for he knew no way to pursue her once she was gone. As her master he could not approach her, but she would at least be here, with him... Or would it be less painful for her to go, leaving him with his memories?

Absently, he rubbed his sternum where the constant ache lived. No, he could not do that. She was ready. There was nothing more he could teach her without delving into the Dark Arts, and he did not wish to corrupt her with those. Not that she wasn't capable, he told himself, but despite her own malicious streak, Hermione was, at heart, a good woman. And he did not wish to darken her light. He only wished her happiness.

Severus stared down at the parchment, took a fortifying gulp of hot tea, and crossed out the line firmly. All of the lines were crossed.

He had no choice. She was ready. He'd have to sign his name in four days' time.

* * *

_"It's a Hogsmeade weekend!" Hermione announced, bouncing excitedly into his sitting room unannounced. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. "Want to go?"_

_Severus frowned, flipping his newspaper down. "In this cold? You must be joking."_

_"Oh, come on. We went for a walk in this yesterday."_

_"In the Forbidden Forest, relatively near the warmth of the castle should we have wished to escape the chill."_

_"I'm a grown witch and perfectly capable of keeping you warm." Only long practice kept his eyebrows from shooting into his hairline at the possible innuendo._

_"I suppose it would be churlish of me to disregard your kind offer and be your escort," he said smoothly. The newspaper was folded and put to the side, and he pulled the warm albeit lumpily-knit blanket from his lap. "I'll just fetch my cloak..."_

Severus woke from the memory-dream rather rudely; the alarm indicating when one of his House needed him was shrilling far too loudly. How had he slept through it for so long? He nearly leapt from his bed, tugging trousers on under his grey nightshirt and shoving his arms into his dressing gown and his feet into slippers. Wand lit, he hurried down the corridor.

He barked the password and the door swung open, revealing a ring of students shifting anxiously in the Common Room. A few turned at his entrance, moving their fellows aside, but most were centered on the two figures on the ground.

"What happened?" he snapped. Hermione looked up at him, never stopping in her quiet chanting, but she made room for him next to the trembling student. Severus touched his wand to hers, linking himself into her diagnostics.

"We don't know," Miss Honeycreek said. She was one of the Prefects, and her lips were in a thin line. "Baxter came back to the room like this. I was waiting up for him—he was out past curfew when we did the bed check. His dormmates aren't talking, either."

"Summon an Elf to fetch Madam Pomfrey immediately."

The girl hurried to do his bidding, and he turned back to his student. The boy was incapable of speech, his throat swollen.

"Look at me, Mister Keene," Severus growled. He kept his touch on the boy's chin light. "Think on what happened. Are we clear? Excellent. Legilimens."

Using Legilimency on students, especially a second year, was not something he did lightly, but he needed answers quickly. Hermione was keeping him alive, but without a second wand or knowledge of what precisely ailed the boy, the lack of progress could prove fatal, and Poppy was too far away.

Severus made the mental connection, relieved his student trusted him enough to not only comply, but also to focus on the events. He was surprised to find that no attack had taken place, and broke the connection. "Allergic reaction, went unnoticed. Fell afoul of Peeves on his way back."

Hermione nodded, changing her spell's focus. He cast reversals for the poltergeist's mischief as quickly as he could, and heard Keene take a sudden, grateful gasp. From the corner of his eye he saw Hermione relax slightly and she switched spells, coaxing the food that had made the boy sick from his system.

They had the situation under control and Severus had ordered his House to return to their beds, reassured all would be well, when Poppy bustled in, her wispy grey hair neatly plaited and her crisp floral dressing gown flaring behind her. The matron dropped her bag to the floor. "What do we have, Severus?"

"Merely an allergic reaction now," he replied. "Hermione and I have undone what Peeves did already."

"Good." Poppy searched her bag, coming up with a phial of pale yellow liquid. In his private opinion, it looked like urine, and he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose in empathy for his student. "Open and drink. Severus, I will need you to brew Mister Keene a week's doses of Borago tincture, to assist with his breathing."

"Of course." He rose smoothly to his feet and assisted first Poppy, then Hermione as well. Poppy Conjured a stretcher and Levitated it. "Hermione, you may return to your rooms."

"I—"

Severus gave her as kind a look as he could manage, feeling slightly ridiculous in his nightclothes now that the urgency had passed. "We will manage from here. You require rest."

Her brown eyes looked troubled, but she nodded. "Of course."

Poppy led the way from the Dungeons, Keene floating along behind her.

* * *

Exhausted, Severus paused in his entryway. Was that...sobbing? Bloody hell, had Myrtle gotten in here again? He thought that he had warded his rooms sufficiently after that rather unsettling encounter after a painful curry experience... He drew his wand and strode forward, but the scowl faded when he saw his apprentice curled up on his settee, crying into the lumpy blanket she'd knitted for him (if only so she could read in his rooms in warmth). She was surrounded by the contents of three different shelves, along with a mound of books he was fairly certain came from her own rooms.

"Hermione?"

She lifted her tear-and-ink-stained face and wiped ineffectually at her cheeks, pushing crumpled parchments from her lap. "Sorry, I know I shouldn't be in here at this hour. How is he?"

"He is recovered. There will be some lingering respiratory concerns, but that will be easily remedied enough with potions. And now Mister Keene knows not to sneak into the kitchens for macarons." A moment's hesitation and he crossed to her, sitting on the free settee cushion, nudging books out of the way with his foot. "Is there a reason for the tears?"

"Yes and no," she hedged. She searched her pockets fruitlessly, and Severus handed her his own handkerchief. He grimaced as she blew her nose rather loudly, the quill jammed into her hair quivering. "I'm just... I don't think you should sign the contract."

His eyebrows shot up.

"I'm so sorry to have wasted your time," Hermione added, sniffling again. "But I... I don't think I'm ready."

"And why not?" Severus demanded, his voice harsh. What in the devil was she talking about? Hermione was one of the most well-prepared people he had ever met! She blushed, turning away from his intense gaze. Clearly, the witch was embarrassed...

"I froze," she whispered. "I didn't think to check for an allergy or the source. I was just trying to keep him alive. I should have done more. I've been trying to figure out what I've done wrong, but all I can come up with is that the error is _me_."

"Merlin help me." Severus rolled his eyes and pulled her into an awkward seated embrace. "You did not fail," he told her gruffly. "You did the right thing. Had you taken the time to do any further diagnostics, it may have rendered him unable to swallow the potion and he would no longer be amongst the living, as I'm certain even your tomes would tell you."

She sniffled into his shoulder.

"Hermione, even Poppy would have done the same. She would have sent for Minerva or myself if I was not already present—and thank Merlin you heard the alarm before it woke me." He tried to gentle his voice as he spoke, yet knowing he had to force the next words past his lips was torment. "You are indeed ready, Hermione. You will make an excellent Healer. The books cannot tell you everything, only experience will. Now cease your emotional outburst so I may pick a fight with you over not sending for me when you realised you were first to the Common Room."

The last was deliberately said to make her laugh and she did, sitting up and dabbing at her eyes. "You're terrible at comforting."

"As it happens, I am well aware of that, even though it's not in a book." Hermione smiled at him. Her nose was red and her cheeks blotchy; she was not one who could cry prettily. But then, honest tears were rarely attractive.

"I meant to send for you," she said softly. "But I knew you would come. Just because I heard it first didn't mean you weren't coming."

Severus Conjured a glass and filled it with cool water, handing it to her. "Drink."

They sat together a while longer, chatting companionably after she'd insisted on going back over the situation to decide where she could improve. It was proving difficult to keep his eyes appropriately on her face, and he'd taken to glancing at the walls, the bookshelves... anything. He finally registered that she was wearing a long pink dressing gown over black pyjama bottoms and a violet scoop-necked top along with ratty slippers that must have begun their lives imitating some sort of animal until she'd relaxed, her confidence restored.

And, of course, he'd held her, foolish man that he was. Now he knew the scent of her skin, the warmth of her body against his, the contours of her form.

"I should probably head back to bed," Hermione said suddenly. Severus blinked; damn, he'd been staring at the clock. Had he inadvertently sent a signal for her to leave? He must have, for she was rising and thanking him for his time.

Struggling with words that wouldn't come, Severus escorted her to the door. Hermione turned to him in her bedraggled footwear and pretty pink robe, her bushy hair mussed and curling down her shoulders. "Oh... Severus?"

Unwilling to trust himself to speak, he merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

She gave him a hesitant smile, her fingers curling around the edge of his door; his heart nearly stopped. What was that look in her eyes? "You are _wonderful_ at comforting."

* * *

tbc in chapter 3!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The next morning, Hermione seemed much restored when he collected her from her quarters, while Severus himself felt like death warmed over. He'd been unable to quiet his mind after her parting words. What had she meant by that? What had that look been? He'd lain awake for hours, his heart hammering against his ribs with terrifying hope that she'd been trying to tell him something beyond her mere sentence.

Tea had sufficed long enough for him to brew the necessary potions for Keene, deliver them to Poppy, then complete his morning ablutions without injuring himself or lambasting some undeserving soul.

Now, of course, that had passed and all he wished to do was imbibe his body weight in coffee at the staff table and make it through the day without murdering anyone.

Last night's events had proven to be rather taxing to his House, and his free time left him inundated with concerned students and the makings of a plan. He'd been so overworked that when Hermione dropped by after his second class, he handed her essays to mark with gratitude.

Her eyebrows rose. "'Thank you'? And you're not arguing? Who are you and what have you done with Severus Snape?"

"Don't start," he told her tiredly. "I've already heard that from Poppy."

Wisely, she didn't push it. "And how is Keene?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Severus flicked his wand and the erasers leapt into motion, wiping the chalkboard clean. "I know you overheard me this morning, telling the staff not to call on him for the week and to assign written work rather than relying on him being able to cast. I do not wish his grades to suffer."

Hermione nodded. "I ran into one of the Prefects in the hall, they've already arranged for one of his classmates to carry his bag to and from classes, as well."

Severus nodded absently.

Hermione Summoned his cauldron mug and, since they were in the classroom, called Winky for tea as Severus began to set up the front bench for demonstration. "Hiccoughing Solution?"

That earned her a grin. "In one."

Another flick of his wand and the chalkboard began to fill with directions written in his spidery script. "I had meant another, but this will be less disastrous should someone make an error. I am simply too tired to pay proper attention, and the techniques in Hiccoughing Solution are similar for what the goal would have been, so I won't be forced to compact a lesson."

"That's one thing I did appreciate about your teaching when I was a student," Hermione told him. She made a face. "Especially after experiencing Professor Slughorn. Despite how annoyed we all were that you never took a sick day or missed a class, what with how much homework you assigned, when I took my OWLs and NEWTs, I realised that we were actually very advanced for our age group... And I thought, if I could get through Professor Snape's class, I can get through anything!"

He scowled, but her words pleased him and the back of his neck warmed with the first signs of a blush. She handed him his full mug, which he accepted, taking a large swallow. The amount of sugar made his teeth hurt, but he shuddered gratefully.

"It's true." Her tone was very matter-of-fact. "Although I am glad that you've mellowed somewhat. I haven't seen you give anyone a detention for breathing too loudly yet."

"There's still time." Draining the mug, he handed it back to her. "Are you taking lunch in the Great Hall?"

Hermione nodded. "There's nothing to brew, so once I've marked these I'll be done."

Severus looked at his work bench thoughtfully. "It is unlikely that I will be there. Would you ask Minerva if she is available to meet with me this evening between the staff meeting and dinner?"

"Of course." Hermione smiled. "Should I ask Winky to bring you a meal?"

"No, I have already made arrangements. But thank you," he added softly. Her smile grew wider.

"Two thank you's in one day! Be careful, it's going to go to my head."

"There's plenty of room in your atrocious hair for your ego, never fear," Severus drawled.

Hermione laughed just as a knock sounded on the door.

"Professor? Are you free?"

He sighed. "Come in, Mister Shellsey. Hermione—"

"I'll be by with Minerva's answer after your double class." He watched her leave, then turned to the worried-looking second year. "I suppose this has to do with Mister Keene..."

* * *

Hermione flipped through the essays, frowning. Severus must truly be exhausted; he hadn't seemed like himself. He'd seemed weary lately, though, and distracted.

Perhaps she could do something for him? Something he'd like.

Well, no, bad idea. The man was still suspicious about receiving gifts, even after Christmases and birthdays. The first time she'd giving him a present he'd cast so many spells that she was very nearly offended. These days she didn't bother to wrap his presents, making it easier on the both of them.

Still, he was appreciative, in his snarky way.

Hermione tapped her quill against her lips before slashing through the obvious errors.

Why was Severus so distracted?

She dropped the quill and pressed her fingers to her lips as a thought occurred to her. What if... what if he didn't want her to go? What if he _liked_ her? Her cheeks heated, her heart racing. Oh, Merlin. What if!

* * *

In the end, Minerva had been more than agreeable to his proposal to have all Prefects given an emergency Potions kit and some rudimentary training. She had signed off on the necessary expenditures for the items he would need from the apothecary.

The old witch settled back in her chair. "So how is she?"

"She? Mister Keene was the student."

"I meant Hermione."

"Ah." Severus steepled his fingers. "She appears well enough. There was a small matter of confidence last night, but that seems to have been resolved."

"Good. She's going to be a wonderful Healer."

"I am inclined to agree." He managed a small smile, despite his exhausting day. "Of course, I did teach her..."

Minerva snorted. "After being threatened and then given no choice."

"If you had simply asked, Minerva, I would have agreed. My problem was that you did not."

"Yes, Hermione made _that_ perfectly clear." Minerva frowned. "She's really quite your champion."

Now it was his turn to snort derisively. "Come now, she champions House Elves, I hardly think her taking my side in regards to her own apprenticeship merits claiming she's my champion."

Minerva pondered it for a moment. "I suppose so..." She straightened in her seat, the feathers on her pointed hat quivering. "And how have the pair of you been getting along?"

"As I have been telling you for three years now, well enough." Annoyance made his words sharper than he intended, and he gentled his tone with effort. "I don't know why you keep asking. I haven't poisoned her, after all."

He resettled himself in his seat, wondering how much time was left before he could escape the uncomfortable conversation under the guise of heading to dinner, but from his vantage he could not see the clock.

"The two of you seem very close."

What in the devil was she probing at? "Nothing untoward has occurred. It would be unprofessional, to say the very least. Hermione is my _apprentice_, Minerva. Nothing more."

No matter how much I desire otherwise, he added to himself.

"Still, you have changed, Severus." A derisive noise from him did nothing to deter her from pressing on, the stubborn witch. "You are happier, and it shows."

He winced before he could catch himself, and Minerva looked triumphant. Yes, he was happy, in a manner of speaking. It was a beautiful torment, having her in his life while knowing he had to give her up.

"Are you in love with her?"

"Merlin's teeth, Minerva! Even for a Gryffindor," he infused the word with as much scorn as he could muster, "that was blunt. You're likely to give me a heart attack."

"At your age? Not likely. You would be good together, however, if you were to pursue her..."

"I would advise against testing that particular theory, I don't think Poppy is up to too much excitement."

Minerva frowned. "She has been seeming more weary lately. I have been quite concerned. Did you know she was the matron when I was in school? I can't believe she didn't retire sooner."

Ah, excellent. His misdirection had worked. "I was actually quite surprised she didn't retire after Potter's years here. Dragons, duels, that damned Triwizard malarkey..." Severus trailed off. "You're grinning, Minerva. Should I see if someone's casting a Cheering Charm on you? It's becoming rather unsettling."

"No need, dear." Merlin, how he hated that. Such a banal term for a man his age! "I was just thinking that it's very good that I've found a replacement for Poppy at the start of the new year."

"You have?" His eyebrows rose.

"Oh, yes. Quite a capable Healer, and well-suited, I think. Why,—"

The bells chimed for dinner, and Severus rose gracefully to his feet. Dinner! Finally, he could escape this mindless chatter. And see Hermione once more, of course. His time with her was limited, and every second he could manage with her before it began to look unseemly was precious to him.

* * *

Dinner had been a disaster. Peeves has decided to start a food fight—why in the bloody hell hadn't someone hadn't banished the poltergeist was beyond him—and he'd been far too busy chastising the participating students to pay Hermione much mind. She'd been trying to ask him something before the whole debacle.

And now, well...

Now, he was shedding his sodden and food-scented layers in favour of a fervently-desired scrub in the shower. Cleansing charms could only do so much, and he had no desire to sit in his quarters marking paper with the smell of toad in a hole clinging to every fiber.

To think, it had once been his favourite dish.

Grumbling to himself about the indignity of it all, Severus kicked his last sock free and padded into the washroom on bare feet. Whichever predecessor had charmed the flagstones in this room for warmth had his unending appreciation. The thick rugs covering his bedroom floor would have been impractical in the washroom, and Severus hated shoving wet feet into slippers.

He scrubbed himself quickly, not bothering to shampoo his hair and merely applying the bar of soap to it. It would suffice until morning. Merlin knew his hair would simply grace his pillow with yet another layer of oil as he slept, so why fuss?

Minerva's insinuations from earlier bothered him as he bathed, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Usually, Minerva was a wise creature, and quite astute when it came to matters of the heart. Whether that stemmed from her years as a teacher or her own experience with love he was unable to say.

Thoughts of pursuing Hermione filled his heart. Could he bring himself to try? Would she be receptive? How would a relationship work out, if she accepted him as a suitor, with the distance that would be between them? She would be in London, surely, unless she was snapped up by some hospital on the continent...

And he would be trapped here, in Hogwarts.

Mid-rinse, he hesitated. He could leave the school. Well, no, that would be foolish in the extreme! Leave the only relatively decent home he'd ever known? His work? He wasn't terribly fond of teaching, but he liked to think he'd gotten better at it in recent years. Besides, if he moved away from the school, he'd be dealing with neighbors or the members of the Wizarding World who weren't between eleven and 18, and he wasn't willing to risk that the current general "heroic" opinion of him wouldn't swing back the other way. Was it cowardly to desire some measure of safety?

Shaking his head, Severus finished rinsing, angry at himself. Thinking of leaving Hogwarts? Such idiocy to even consider it! He didn't think that he was irreplaceable, no, but he knew that he had made a difference with his House, and they mattered to him a great deal. Just pass off Slytherin house to another or, god forbid, new staff member? Never.

He exited the shower and reached for the fluffy towel folded on the shelf; it was warm and soft as he wiped the water from his angular face, and he sniffed. Damn hot showers always made his nose run.

Besides, he thought to himself, he didn't even know if Hermione would accept his suit! If she accepted a... a _date_, he would be amazed. Why was he contemplating something long term? He hadn't even asked her to dinner! Why was he thinking, planning, as if she was his?

* * *

"Severus? Are you in?" He glanced up from his marking. Hermione was peering around the corner. With an audible crack, he straightened his spine.

"I am. You may enter, of course." Sticking his gold-nibbed quill on its rest and discarding his reading glasses, he sat back in his chair. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not really. I think I just wanted some company."

"Nostalgic already," he mocked gently.

Hermione laughed. Conjuring a second chair, she sat, curling one leg under her. "Not too nostalgic, never fear." She glanced at his desk. "More marking?"

"Unfortunately. I'm trying to finish, as I won't have time tomorrow night." She nodded. "Hermione, would you be averse to running to Diagon Alley tomorrow to pick up the orders?"

"I can even assemble the Prefect kits, if you'd like."

"You may as well," he muttered, glaring down at the stack of essays. He would have been finished already if he hadn't had to wash.

"Poor Professor. Too much work?"

"Hardly." Severus snorted as he turned to her once more, then frowned as he took in her appearance. "I see you've bathed, as well."

Hermione scowled. "I got caught in the crossfire, too, I'm afraid. Do you have any idea how long it took to scrub the potatoes out of my hair?"

"Probably as long as it would take me to find the Baron and have him lock Peeves away for a term or two."

That earned him a giggle, and he smiled at her. Hermione smiled back, and he almost opened his mouth to ask her to dinner. Almost. He couldn't do it. What if she thought she should because she was his apprentice?

No, it would be better to wait.

* * *

The day had been a blur. Hermione had spent the morning in London and the afternoon in the lab, assembling the emergency kits, and Severus had suffered through his whirlwind of classes. He'd checked on Keene, marked essays, prepared demonstrations, marked completed potions, had done Darcy's first Remedial lesson—Merlin, but that was going to be a pain. How had the child gotten so behind without his notice?—and had just ushered the last Prefect from his classroom.

He was, simply put, exhausted.

As he entered his quarters, Hermione looked up from his settee with a smile, wrapped again in the lumpy blanket. He recognised one of his rather beaten science fiction books on her lap. "Good evening, Severus."

"Pilfering my shelves again, I see."

She shrugged, toying with her silver necklace. "It's one of my favourites."

"Mine as well." Severus shrugged out of his robes and sent them flying to his bedroom with a flick of his wrist. He sat down heavily in his chair with a sigh.

"Tea?" she offered.

"Oh, Merlin, yes."

Hermione called Winky to procure nourishment, and soon there was a tray between them with, surprisingly, an assortment of his favourite finger foods. Hermione carried a steaming pot from the kitchenette and set it between them. He served himself quickly; he was famished.

"How did it go?"

"Well enough. We'll meet again next week, no sense in letting them forget what they've learned." He bit into a sandwich.

"Repetition is good, I think, especially for emergency situations." Hermione hesitated, and he lifted an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "I was thinking... Would you mind if I stayed in my quarters for a while after the contract is finished?"

The second brow joined the first.

To his utter amazement, she blushed, sending his thoughts spinning as he tried to guess her reasons for staying. It couldn't be... him, could it? Damn it, she was still talking, he'd missed what she'd said.

"...so I figured that if I shadowed Poppy for a bit I would be more confident when I was—Severus? Are you listening?" Her tone was impatient.

"Yes," he replied, just as impatiently. He took another sandwich to disguise his disappointment. Of course. Poppy. Not him. "Go on."

"Well, in any case, I was thinking, that maybe, once we're finished, that you—"

"Sir."

Hermione gave a little shriek as the Bloody Baron floated through the wall, looking somewhat agitated as he clanked his chains. "What is it this time?"

"Fight in the common room, Professor. It would appear several male Hufflepuff students have found their way in in an attempt to woo some ladies. Or lads, I suppose," the Baron added in a hoarse voice. "I wasn't quite paying attention to the particulars."

"Oh, for the love of—" Severus rose to his feet, annoyed. "Just for one night, could the bloody students behave themselves? Hermione, you are free to stay, but should you leave before I return, kindly set the wards. Have a pleasant evening."

Severus's door was swinging closed behind him when he heard, quite clearly, Hermione speak: "Oh, piffle."

* * *

It was well after midnight when he made it back to his rooms, head pounding and his mind exhausted. Severus frowned at his door; the wards were not up, and it wasn't like Hermione to forget. He drew his wand and cast several charms, but found nothing untoward.

Carefully, he entered his rooms. It was mostly dark; the fire had died down, casting shadows on the far wall that would have been almost eerie if he hadn't lived here as long as he had. He lit his wand, holding it aloft. The tea service, long cold, was still on the table, and there was a tell-tale shimmer of a stasis charm over the food.

Severus peered closer. Socks were sticking out from under the extra-lumpy blanket. The knot of suspicion in his chest eased, then dissipated entirely when he saw the curls fluffing out at the other end of the settee. With a swish, the fire was stoked, and another spell saw steam spiraling from the teapot once more.

Wondering at her presence, Severus picked up the fallen paperback, marking her place, before sinking into his welcoming chair. She had waited for him, and he was loathe to unkindly wake her.

Summoning a book from his nightstand, he settled in to read.

* * *

tbc in chapter 4!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Good morning," Hermione said, opening her door. She felt horrible.

"If you say so," Severus grumbled. He moved to give her room to exit her chambers, and she closed the door firmly behind her. "My neck is stiff and I slept through my first alarm."

"Me, too." She yawned, covering her mouth with one hand. "I barely remember Winky moving me to my rooms. She wasn't very pleased to find us both passed out in your sitting room."

His shoulders relaxed fractionally. He must have been really out of it, she thought, to not to have noticed that.

"She wouldn't be. House Elves have a very strong opinion on propriety, I've noticed."

"Me, too. It took a long time for me to realise that most of them aren't ready for freedom, yet." Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Even if they should be."

She hated it. It was so unfair! They worked so hard, for so little—

"Yes," he agreed, distracting her from her thoughts. "At least at Hogwarts they are well-treated. Did you know that ever since your fiasco with the hats that the Headmaster or Headmistress has left the offer of freedom or paid work open to any elf who wishes it?"

"Really?" Hermione looked up at his strong profile, feeling her cheeks pinken. "That's wonderful! I had no idea! Has anyone taken it yet?"

"Not yet. Some consider it more and more with each passing year, however."

"Good." She smiled, elated.

"Indeed. So you won't have to knit any hats as you shadow Poppy."

"So I can stay in my quarters a while longer?" Hermione looked up at him hopefully as they reached the staff door to the Great Hall.

Severus opened the door for her to precede him. His next words thrilled her. "They are yours for as long as you'd like."

On cloud nine, she hurried to her seat.

* * *

Having dismissed his last class before lunch, Severus moved into his office to mark essays. As he read over the parchments, his fingers kept straying to the silver and gold binding cord on his desk. The silk was cool and slippery, the colours mocking him.

Achievement and triumph, the benefactor and teacher, the colour linked to the alchemically masculine sun. It wasn't a bright shade, but a muted, almost traditional tone. Almost intense, in its own way. And was it daft to think it a royal colour, and he the once self-styled Half-Blood Prince?

On the other hand... The oft-considered feminine moon was linked to silver, a mature sort of reflection. It meshed well with the gold, but where gold was an excellent conduit for magic, silver was a cleansing, pure metal. Perfect for Hermione, who wished to become a Healer.

He'd found the colours disturbing, at first. He would have thought one of the colours would have been black: his own Apprenticeship cord had been black and yellow. Certainly fitting for him and his impatient, critical Master.

But gold? For him?

And silver for her?

It was as if that fickle bitch Fate had finally remembered he existed and decided to meddle in his life again. Then again, maybe it was Karma. Merlin knew he wanted something good in his life... and Hermione was definitely good.

Well, good for him, anyway. She certainly had a vindictive streak in her, but she had much better control than he had, although he was fairly sure that Draco and—drat what had that girl's name been the year the toad was in the school? Cliffbrush? No. Something to do with blemishes—would disagree heartily. But Hermione made him want to be... better. He did not have to try to gain her attention, he had it. He did not have to hide his interests, for she was curious about everything. She was... everything, in a way. She was possibility, the moon he would reach for.

Snatching his fingers away from the cord, Severus frowned and tried to get back to marking. He would ask her to dinner. Soon. As soon as the contract was finished. He bloody well _would_.

* * *

Severus sat staring into his fire, cauldron mug held loosely in his grip, the tea it had held long gone. His day had been quiet, and it seemed that every time Hermione wished to speak to him, they had been interrupted. He'd heard the washroom door lock automatically a few hours ago, then unlock a few minutes after. And now... he waited. The fire crackled every so often, sparks drifting upwards.

Five minutes.

Four minutes.

Three minutes.

A log snapped, shifting in the blaze.

Two minutes.

Ash drifted from the fire.

One minute.

Severus put down his mug and picked up his quill.

Forty seconds.

Thirty.

Twenty.

Ten.

The clock chimed midnight and he signed his name on the line, heart aching as he felt the tenuous threads of magic binding him to his apprentice dissolve. The contract disappeared with a quiet pop, likely to Minerva's desk.

She was no longer _his_ Hermione Granger.

* * *

Saturdays in Hogwarts were quiet, and the only meal he was expected to attend was dinner. Amazingly, he hadn't even assigned anyone detention, so his entire day was ahead of him to...

Severus frowned, lowering his morning teacup. To do what, exactly? There was nothing that needed brewing, and the weekend was too short for something experimental. He'd finished his marking, his lessons were planned, and the classroom spotless.

He could read, perhaps finish one of the three books on his bedside table...

Or he could see if Hermione was available to take a walk in the Forbidden Forest...

Steeling himself for rejection, Severus headed down the corridor. The portraits snoozed peaceably as he passed them, and he fiddled with his wrist. What impulse had possessed him to tie the binding cord on as a bracelet? What if his sleeve rose, revealing his folly? Cursing himself as a sentimental fool, he knocked on her door.

"Coming!" Hermione's voice called. "No, Crooks, don't... fine, put your tail under my foot! Here, sit on this..." Severus smiled at her annoyance with her familiar. He was well-acquainted with the feline's need to put himself underfoot. The door opened and he wiped the smile from his face quickly. "Hello—Oh! Severus!"

She seemed genuinely pleased to see him as she gathered the folds of her dressing gown closer.

"My apologies, I did not mean to disturb your morning. I had wondered if you wished to take a walk in the Forbidden Forest today?"

Teeth sank into her bottom lip. "I would love to," she said. "But I have to spend this afternoon at St Mungo's to finalise my Healer status, since you signed the contract last night. I got their owl about a half-hour ago."

"I see." Still, he was a determined man. "Perhaps tomorrow morning?"

Hermione shook her head. "Paperwork with Minerva."

They stood awkwardly at her door. "Perhaps," Severus began slowly, his heart pounding, "I could convince you take dinner with me in Hogsmeade?"

Hermione studied him carefully. "You could, I haven't plans for the evening," she said. "Severus, to be clear...are you asking me on a date?"

"I am." Merlin, was that his voice? It was barely audible in the corridor.

Hermione smiled. "Well, that saves me the trouble. I would love to have dinner with you."

"Truly?" He asked before he could stop himself. Severus shook his head to clear it. His mind was too busy gibbering 'she said yes' at him. "I wanted to ask before you left Hogwarts."

She frowned. "Why would I leave Hogwarts?"

Now it was his turn to frown. "You're going to shadow Poppy, yes, but then I assume that St Mungo's will hire you on. They'd be foolish not to."

Hermione laughed. "Didn't Minerva tell you that Poppy's retiring after this term?"

"She did."

"Well, did she neglect to add that I'll be the new Healer?" Her eyes were dancing. "I'll be taking over. Minerva thought that it would be helpful to have a full Healer on staff, rather than just a matron or Mediwitch, especially after my school years."

He opened and closed his mouth several times before hunching his shoulders. His hair swung forward, curtaining his face. "Minerva may have intended to, but our discussion was interrupted." He paused. "You're skilled enough that any institution would be blessed to have you."

"But Hogwarts is home for me," she said gently, reaching out to brush his hair back behind his ear. "Besides, I'm rather attached to a particular Potions Master, if he's amenable to trying out a different sort of relationship."

Severus smiled. "I do believe I am."

"Good." Hermione rose on tiptoe and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth. Severus caught her as she retreated and gave her a proper kiss. It was brief, but warmed him straight to his toes. Call it masculine pride, but he was fairly certain she looked a little dazed.

"Would you like to come in and have breakfast with me?" Hermione asked, smiling at him.

"I would indeed."

She led the way into her quarters, and he closed the door firmly behind him.

-_The End_-

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading, and of course for any reviews you'd care to leave! They mean the world to me. _


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